


Barbed Wire

by CloudDreamer



Series: Ballad [2]
Category: The Mechanisms (Band)
Genre: Dr Carmilla's A+ Parenting, Graphic Depictions of Science, Mechanization
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-30
Updated: 2020-03-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:35:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23396356
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CloudDreamer/pseuds/CloudDreamer
Summary: To be (Jonny D'ville) Jonathan Vangelis is to (make them) bleed.
Relationships: Dr Carmilla & Jonny d'Ville
Series: Ballad [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1678978
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54
Collections: Stowaways' Shenanigans





	Barbed Wire

Her body weighs you down, keeping your chest still like the cuffs do your hands, up past your head. But you didn’t notice the cuffs or the table beneath your back, not when you woke up from the inky black of that almost forever death. You didn’t even notice the screaming pain— it’d come with you into the void. The metal pins holding your chest open, they’re a detail, and so is the stench of blood and cinders. 

You feel the movement of her first, straddling your stomach. She twists and turns, leaning in as she cuts flesh away. When she’s close, you feel her breath on your face, even as you realize the deafening silence is the lack of a heartbeat, from either of you. When she was cut, you remember, nothing came out. 

She didn’t need to tie you down like this, you realize so late, as you fail to scream. The Toy Soldier stands nearby, just watching with its doll eyes, and you strain to vocalize, trying to find a way to cry for help. It would do anything, you knew, it could stop this. You’d died; you were supposed to end there. You hadn’t wanted it, weren’t ready for it, but you hadn’t expected this when you whimpered out those last pathetic please’s. You hadn’t wanted this either. 

She twists pieces inside you, sharpening and then releasing the pain, but only for a moment. You’ve never been the type to pray, but you know your thoughts, loose and panicked without any sort of direction, turn in that direction when she smiles. Even your eyes can’t move. They’re frozen open, and you’re positioned at an angle, head tilted down so you can watch, like you’d want that, and if god could just make it stop... but she’s here, and you know you sold your soul when you took her hand. You knew she was a monster; you’d seen her lick her fingers when the blood went flying. She’d told you she was so proud of you as you fell. That she might even love you. 

She’s talking still, handing tools to the Toy Soldier to wash and explaining all the details you never asked for. She whispers assurances between commands, saying all those things she said before. Her smile, with all those razor sharp teeth, is so close to your neck, but you think it’d be a blessing if she just tore you up like that. Sometimes she runs her fingers through your hair, and the pain lets up, in the faintest ways. 

You think it might be easier if it stays consistent or that you could brace yourself if she warns you when it’s going to deepen, but then she leaves without a warning, and you curse yourself for thinking this could ever get easier. She slides off you with such effortless grace, and she brings the Toy Soldier with her. It smiles and waves at you, like this is just a fucking game, and you want to scream at her to stay, just like you want to scream at her to die for doing this to you. The mechanical _thing_ she’d shoved in your chest starts to beat but at the wrong rhythm. The place where your heart used to be is ragged and torn, wires replacing veins and twisting with flesh. You don’t know how long it’s been since you woke up. You don’t know how long it’s been since you died— you _died._

This is wrong. It’s as wrong as the wooden shine to the Toy Soldier’s skin, or the slightly nauseous feeling you’d burry whenever the Doc got too close. She cared for you. She paid attention. You were the fuck up for wanting to push her away when she was the first person to love _you._

You can’t even hold back the tears. They run down your cheek, wild and loose. You’d scream and hit something or laugh, laugh, laugh till something that wasn’t funny sounds like the most hilarious shit in the world, but you can’t move. You can’t even breathe as your body knits itself back together, slowly. You swear, you can feel it one cell at a time, each barbed wire melded into new flesh, tearing and repairing themselves on end. You try to count the seconds, but by the time you pass the hundred thousand mark and the only thing you can feel is pain, you stop. You try to imagine something better than this, but all that comes to mind when you ask for comfort is her hands on your shoulders, her gentle words in your ears.

Even when your skin is back— not back, recreated sickeningly wrong— you still hurt. You need to scream, and you feel the panic rising up in you as you realize— this is forever.

**Author's Note:**

> this is my 70th work, i hope it was worth it.


End file.
